


New Beginning

by Zippit



Series: gameofcards prompts [1]
Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zippit/pseuds/Zippit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick glimpse into Mario's head while he and the other residents are waiting for their first shift to start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "new" for a [team_spades](http://team_spades.livejournal.com) only battle between phases 6 and 7 of [gameofcards](http://gameofcards.livejournal.com).

Mario’s a low level kind of pissed that’s going to make making friends at Angels Memorial harder than it should be. Dressed in blue scrubs from head to toe, familiar black shoes with their Nike swoosh on them, and the cool rubber of his stethoscope around his neck are the required clothes for today. His pockets are heavy with pens and lifesavers he can chomp on to stop him from saying something stupid. Not that that’s going to do him much good.

The halls at Angels Memorial are worn, painted with the creases and dirt of many years and a million people. He doesn’t think too hard about what these walls have seen as he waits for this first shift to start. There’s a metal resupply cart halfway down the hall loaded down with half full plastic bins. Saline, heparin flushes, blood pressure cuffs, and everything else that might run out on the floor. He lifts his head to look at the other residents around him. There’s only three of them. A small class for Angels, but only the best of the best get in here. Mario had worked his ass off to make that cut.

Stocky guy to his left, Angus Leighton, his tag reads. Wouldn’t last two days on the streets. Neither would the two women. Malaya Pineda radiates warmth and gentleness. The blonde, Christa Lorenson, next to her is a different story. Grief paints her face in subtle ways, in the resigned line of her shoulders. But she’s polished upper middle class. Early 40s running with late twenty-somethings gunning for a spot here. Hard to pull that off without the right set of circumstances.

Mario would kill for one of the energy drinks he has in his locker or at least to get this shit going. Waiting around for the other shoe to drop has never been his strong suit. Fists and feet, broken teeth, that’s what he's used to. That’s what he told himself he was getting away from when he followed that jackass of an ex-boyfriend across the country to L.A.

Those blue eyes had told him things would be good when they were on the same coast starting their new lives together. He’d still gotten himself his own place just because. Rent, utilities, his trusty Jeep driven cross country. And hey, they both needed their own space. Good thing too when shortly after he’d made it out here Oliver had told him it wasn't fucking working and said get out.

A part of Mario had always been waiting for it. So he’d shrugged his shoulders and walked out. But damn, Angels was the best, and only, place he wanted to be he’d just meant there to be more outside of work. But he should’ve known better. That doesn’t happen to him. No one looks out for him but him. Fact of life. He needs to stop forgetting that. Needs to stop letting his _feelings_ come into play. It’s stupid and never ends well.


End file.
